


when i find the pieces

by blifuys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Background dimitri/claude, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Makeup Sex, Misunderstandings, Sexual Tension, Unresolved issues that get resolved over the whole story, lots of misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: “Your happiness matters the most, Felix,” Dimitri absentmindedly twirls a lock of blonde hair around his finger, but his face is clearly in deep thought. “I want you to do things for yourself too.”“What if I don’t know what I want? Then what?” Felix asks.Dimitri pulls his finger forward from the side of his face and rests it on his lips. He taps his finger once, twice in thought—making Felix sit in silence before he answers:“Then when the time comes that you do find out what you want, grasp it and don’t let go.”Felix and Sylvain work together for one of the most high-end brands in the world: Valentine Goneril. Between shoots and photo spreads and dress changes, they pull off the layers of makeup and clothing one-by-one until they're confronted with each other - and themselves.Oh, and they fall in love. Maybe.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	when i find the pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sylvix Big Bang 2020. Special thanks to my bang partner - [Vivian!](https://twitter.com/creslightning) You're such a blessing for being so patient with me over the last few months, I'm a little sad it's ending, but I will always be thankful that I met you!
> 
> minor edit (15 aug 2020): some spelling errors I didn't catch while editing  
> 
> 
> [Please click here to see the accompanying art! ](https://twitter.com/creslightning/status/1293921575348183042?s=20)
> 
> Anyway. Without further ado: idiots in love.

_don’t know if I have ever heard you sing but I hear it // don’t know if I have ever held your hand but I seek it // don’t know if I ever loved but I feel it // put the puzzle back together, see what I’m dreaming // when I find the pieces_

Fridays are Felix’s favourite.

They usher in the end of a long week, a break from the long days of posing in front of cameras in tight-fitting clothes that make sitting down uncomfortable. Weekends give him the chance to shed pounds of clothes off his back like moulting old skin—luxurious pearls and diamond embellishments dumped onto the floor in a pool of crumpled silk.

Instead of designer clothes, he dons cotton pyjamas and fencing gear like armour. He swaps back-breaking poses for improper slouching in front of the television. He is freed from the chains of high fashion, of pretentious cocks splashing random French words like ‘ _maladie’_ or ‘ _oh, la vache!’_ into sentences like it means anything.

It is not as if Felix does not understand the amount of work and effort that goes into the fashion industry—from observing designers and models alike, the industry is far from easy. It’s competitive, cut-throat, emotional, and destructive.

Felix understands it very well—plays the game by the rules, even. It doesn’t mean that he has to like it, though. 

He is deeply asleep when his phone rings to life beside his head, the loud vibration on his pillow all forms of grating on his nerves. He has half a mind to grab the device and throw it against the wall. But instead of acting on his desire to hear his phone die with a resounding crack, he fumbles around until his hand brushes against cool glass, and he answers the call.

“What.” His voice croaks—roughened with sleep and anger. On the other end of the line, the mystery caller sighs, clearly unfazed by Felix’s standoffish behaviour.

“Nice to hear from you too, Felix,” Annette grumbles, “You know, you could benefit from being nicer when you pick up calls. What if it was someone important? Like, I dunno, a big talent agency? Ever considered that?”

“I don’t care,” Felix snaps, “It’s Friday. What do you want?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get to the point,” Annette says, “You know the Valentine Goneril shoot?”

“The one next Wednesday?” Felix realises that he’s definitely not going back to sleep now. It’s unusual for his manager to ring him up on his precious off day—Annette, out of everyone he personally knows, advocates for work-life balance the most. “Did something happen?”

“Holst cancelled on them.”

“What?” Felix sits up instantaneously, the pillows that were cushioning his head thrown back against the headboard as he reels from this new information. “So what’s gonna happen? We cancel?”

“No,” Annette says, “Luckily, there was a replacement who was willing to step in.”

“Okay, then crisis averted. What did you need to call me for?”

“Would you let me _finish_ , Felix?” His manager snaps at him over the phone—and Felix knows better than to say anything else, lest she lose her temper. “We have a replacement, but he can only make it tomorrow.”

“Wait.”

Felix breathes in. This can’t be happening, this _cannot_ be happening. He refuses to believe it, but he asks, and _oh_ , does he wish he had simply ignored her call.

“Does this mean that—”

“Yep.”

“Annette—”

“Look, I know it’s Saturday tomorrow, but we really need you in this photoshoot.”

Of course, Felix knows that schedule changes are to be expected in this industry. Anything could go wrong at any time, and there will always be another poor sap to pick up the mess that someone left behind. Felix, in particular, has _been_ that poor sap on multiple occasions; having to fill in for roles that the bigger names decided were too small, too dim for their shiny presence. 

He can’t begin to imagine the stress that the staff, Annette included, are being put through—stress that came as a result of one man’s irritating lack of consideration for others. 

“ _Everyone_ wants to work with Valentine Goneril, Felix! If we miss this opportunity, we—”

By no means is Felix happy about this situation. Along with the pounding in his head that had just made its presence known to him, his skin begins to burn and prickle with anger. He feels the urge to _hang up_ , to ignore Annette and curl back up in bed, to pretend nothing happened. It’s not Felix’s fault that an asshole decided to ditch—why should _he_ have to bend his own life in order to accommodate for others? 

And yet—Felix _knows_ surrender is inevitable. Adulthood comes with its difficulties, one of them being choosing what’s _right_ instead of what’s preferred. Above all, he knows exactly how sought after Valentine Goneril is, and to reject this opportunity would be career suicide. 

Felix is a man of ambition, after all.

“I’ll do it.”

“—I mean, I could ask to withdraw, but— _what did you just say?_ ”

“I said I’ll do it. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Felix!” Annette shrieks in delight over the phone, and he winces in pain from how sharp her voice is.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that! I’ll pick you up at 7am tomorrow—we’re supposed to be there by 8 at Continental Plaza. 53 West Avenue? You know that place?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“’Kay! I’ll come by with coffee. Thanks for being great! See ya!” _Click._

Felix stays still for a few more seconds, nothing but the tone of a dropped call ringing in his ear. There is a huge pot of mixed feelings in his chest—anger? Sorrow? Upset? His feelings mash into one ugly amalgamation of Felix’s bitterness, stewing and simmering in his head.

He still had the rest of Friday to do whatever he wanted. Maybe he’ll go to the gym and run until his legs scream for mercy. Maybe he’ll buy a whole rotisserie chicken to stress-eat his feelings away for dinner. Maybe he could call Dimitri for a quick fencing match—seeing his friend lose miserably sounds enticing enough. 

Felix groans and tosses his phone onto the bed. With a forceful drop onto his mattress, he slaps his hands onto his face with a resounding _smack_ , rubbing at the skin in frustration as he feels the sting on his cheeks. All he wants to do is curl up into his soft cotton blankets, cocooning himself as he screams at everything and nothing at the same time.

There is no way he’s going back to sleep now. The fury that boils in his chest does not let him. 

\---

In Felix’s ideal world, Saturdays are purely for him to burn out his excess energy.

He doesn’t know anyone else who would willingly wake up at 6am on a weekend morning, put on running shoes, and actually go for a run. Plenty of people, even the almighty Ingrid herself, live by the rule to never be conscious before the sun hangs directly above their heads like a lamp. But Felix likes the stillness of the world at daybreak. 

It’s an opportunity to be with himself. Even as a child, Glenn always told him to listen to his body. _It’s the only one you’ve got,_ he used to say, _follow what your body tells you, and what your heart yearns for._ He finds himself chasing the sun on the shoreline, feeling the wind through his hair as the waves crash onto the sand—music to his ears.

He is the most himself during these runs. His worries drip away like the sweat rolling off his skin. His muscles flare with energy as he sprints—thighs burning as far as they’ll take him. The world is the most beautiful then, and he is at peace.

So of course, having to trade that in for another day of work sent Felix into a bad mood. Not even seeing Annette walk into his apartment lobby with a cup of coffee could cheer him up.

Shoot mornings are a whole parallel universe of their own. The routine is the same every time—he’s rushed into a random room with supplies ready, palettes of colours and tubes of cream laid out like someone’s set up a store. He watches himself transform from Felix Hugo Fraldarius to _Felix_ , the next rising star of the fashion world from the Fraldarius family. His face is dusted with colour, his features morphing and changing before his very eyes.

Felix will never admit this out loud, but he thinks of the make-up artists as wizards. Who else could change Felix into a vision of beauty, sculpting his face like a marble statue of perfection? There are days where he cannot believe the person he sees in the well-lit mirrors is _him_.

Wizards. The whole lot of them.

It is 8.15am when Annette bursts into the dressing room—confused panic written in the worry lines on her face. Felix nearly drops the coffee he’s sipping, and luckily he _doesn’t_ , because he is not willing to face the wrath of the stylists on a weekend morning.

“He’s not here yet.” The cadence of her breathing begins to slow down as she catches her breath—it is clear she’s been running around for a bit.

“Who?” Felix asks, but Annette’s already fully focused on her phone. He watches the little star charm dangle and shake along to her frantic typing. “The other model?”

“He was supposed to arrive 20 minutes ago!” Annette huffs, “No one’s picking up my calls! His manager hasn’t seen my message yet!”

Come to think of it, Felix has yet to ask about Holst’s replacement. Whoever it is, they have not made a good impression in Felix’s mind—a professional being late? In this industry? Unheard of.

“Who is this dolt?” he barks, already feeling his temper begin to rise and boil.

“You know Gautier?” Annette looks up from her phone, and something clicks and falls into place in Felix’s head.

Of course he knows the name.

Stories of a man so hedonistic that he’s left a legacy of broken hearts in his path—a non-stop revolving door of partners. Gautier in particular is almost never seen without a person in his lap, but his true reputation lies in his unhinged clubbing habits. It is said that Gautier’s head of signature fire-red hair will make an appearance—bringing the party with him when he comes, and taking the party with him when he goes.

Disgusting.

There is a fleeting thought that passes Felix’s mind—whether Gautier is aware of the way he’s perceived, the way people whisper his name on the streets and between shoots. He’s heard from his colleagues and staff all about what Gautier’s been up to, which parties he’s appeared at; _ooh, did you see what he was wearing? Wow! He’s dating Liliana? Huh? I thought he was dating Joe Brandon? Not anymore!_

Yes. Felix _has_ heard of Gautier. He wishes he heard less. 

“Yeah,” Felix mutters, “I’ve heard of him, alright. Plenty of times.”

“I’m honestly surprised he took the shoot,” Annette muses as she flicks her fingers across the smooth screen. “I would have expected someone else—”

Before she can continue, she is cut off by the shrill tone of her phone. The device buzzes in her hand for barely a second before she picks up; arm snapping up to answer. 

“Hello? Yes, yes, this is Annette—”

Felix’s manager turns away and walks out the door, presumably to speak in privacy. In doing so, Annette leaves Felix to his own devices. There is nothing else for him to do besides watch the makeup and styling crew prepare their equipment, swapping little glass bottles and metal palettes on and off the dresser table like magic. 

Instead of mindlessly zoning out like he usually does, Felix examines the situation at hand, his thoughts revolving around the same few things: a head of fiery hair, the taste of store-bought coffee on the tip of his tongue and a smile so blinding that it lights up the city on illuminated billboards.

\---

At exactly 8.30am, the door to the studio is suddenly flung open by a group of people running in. Felix looks up from his spot in the corner, coffee in hand half-finished and sweating on the surface. The first person he sees is a woman; her muted blonde hair is chopped in a short bob, the ends of her hair curling inwards. She’s dressed a lot like Annette—pressed dress pants and a nice shirt; and Felix instantly knows she’s a manager. 

“Sorry!” The woman is apologetic, stress written all over her face in the same way he’s seen Annette before. “Sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to be late!”

“It’s good that you’re here now,” someone says—Felix does not know their name; but they’ve been rushing around long enough for him to know that they are most likely part of Valentine Goneril’s crew. “Please, we don’t have enough time, so we may need to hurry.”

“Okay, sorry, we’ll—” The blonde woman bows her head again, before she turns around. It’s amazing how people change so quickly; the next thing he knows, the woman’s gentle, apologetic expression twists into something angry. Stormier, a lot less patient. “ _Sylvain!_ Hurry up!” 

Felix does not believe in movies. Sure, he enjoys watching the _good_ action movies every now and then, but the romance movies that Annette is such a big fan of leave a lot to be desired. The lack of realism, the cheesy plots, and the terrible writing make watching a chore. Felix has said time and time again that he’d rather listen to Ashe gush about the Kyphon and Loog series for two hours straight than force himself to swallow a low-grade chick flick. 

But right now, he wonders if he’s accidentally woken up in a parallel universe—one where his life turns into one of those shitty romance comedies he hates so damn much. 

Sylvain Jose Gautier makes his entrance like a romantic lead. Everything works in slow motion as he walks in; the only thing that’s missing is a cheap sounding background track accompanying his reveal. Even at this hour on a weekend morning, he looks effortlessly _good_ —shiny and polished, as if he simply rolled out of bed and decided to be handsome.

It pisses Felix off. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Gautier says as he saunters into the room with his hands carelessly thrown behind his back. Clearly, he does not look the least bit sorry, and Felix wonders if he has any decent mannerisms in that thick head of his. “We got caught in a detour on the way here.”

“ _Sure,_ ” Felix hisses. “ _Sure,_ you did.” 

Gautier, clearly not expecting a reply like that, turns his attention towards Felix. His eyes are curious, and for a split second Felix sees something that _isn’t_ perfected and practised confidence. Gautier’s brows lift in a way that makes Felix think he’s _surprised_. 

It comes as quickly as it goes, though, and he regains his composure in record time. 

“You must be Felix,” Gautier approaches him with a twinkle in those honey-brown eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

It sends shivers down his spine, how fake someone can sound when they’re trying to be sweet. Gautier’s voice, melodious and sickly thick like honey, sounds grating to Felix’s ears. His charm has the opposite effect on Felix, and the latter has to exert all his effort to keep himself from throwing a fist into Gautier’s face. 

“Sure. Can we do this later? You’re holding up the room,” Felix jabs his thumb behind him. 

And he’s right, of course. The photographer’s been ready for a while now. She’s been adjusting the set—a simple, minimalistic chair set up against the wall in the corner of the dimly-lit room—and Felix wonders if she’s going to take it all apart and arrange it again just to keep herself busy. Gautier notices this, thankfully, and withdraws, a simple smirk set on his face. 

“Alright, I’ll take my sweet time getting to know you,” Gautier winks, and Felix's arm twitches as a subconscious response. 

This is going to be a long, _long_ project. 

\---

“Like what you see?” Gautier asks as he takes a seat next to Felix on the couch they have on set today. In response, Felix rolls his eyes and grunts.

The project is pretty simple—Valentine Goneril had decided to go for a themed collection this round, a whole line of multicoloured clothing with intricate patterning and stitching as well as silhouettes. At first glance, Felix wonders how practical the clothes are, and exactly _who_ in their right mind would buy these in the first place? 

“Could you sit closer?” The photographer says as she gestures for Felix to shift closer to the right, and it is here that he realises the strange gap he’s placed between himself and Gautier. “We need you to be shoulder-to-shoulder.”

God.

Felix slowly shuffles himself across the seat, though the action feels more like a death sentence than a simple movement.

“I won’t bite, Felix!” Gautier says as he makes room for him to sit, lifting his arm and resting it over the back of the couch. “Unless you want me to?”

“No,” Felix flatly rejects. “Please take this seriously.”

“I _am_ being serious, though. Maybe you don’t see it, but I totally am.”

“Sure.”

Gautier laughs as Felix finally closes the gap between them. It shocks Felix how warm Gautier is—he’s like a fireplace, crackling and burning strong. Either Felix is too cold-blooded or Gautier’s an actual space heater—neither of which Felix particularly prefers. 

He wonders how long this will take. 

“Mr. Fraldarius, could you loosen up a little?” The photographer asks Felix barely minutes into their session. “You look very, very tense on camera.”

“Oh, sorry,” Felix says, and he rolls out his shoulders for a second or two before he drops them down. He relaxes his jaw—which he didn’t realise was painfully tense this entire time—and he adjusts once more. “How about this?”

“Um, just a little more, please. Maybe if you could relax your back? You look like you want to run away.”

Before Felix can respond to that, an arm reaches out and loops around his waist, pulling him closer and up against his shoot partner. It’s unexpected, how nicely he fits against the shape of Gautier’s body; like a puzzle piece that’s meant for him. The thought of that makes Felix feel strange—he had only _just_ met Gautier. What business did he have, thinking of how weirdly they fit?

“How about this?” Gautier asks the photographer as he keeps his hand on the small of Felix’s waist, and the photographer raises a thumb above her head—clearly satisfied. 

As if to rub salt into the wound, the man turns his gaze downward to Felix, a buttery-soft smile spread across his lips in amusement. 

“I mean it, I won’t bite,” He says, voice low and rumbly. 

Felix rolls his eyes as he feels his cheeks tingle and burn, and it takes all his effort to not shove Gautier away and run. 

\---

“You’d think the man would have enough common decency to be on time,” Felix snaps at Annette hours later—after everything finishes for the day. In response, Annette takes a particularly loud slurp from her soda, far too focused on finishing the cup than listening to Felix air his grievances, but that doesn’t stop him. “He’s supposed to be an industry favourite, right?” 

“I don’t know,” She mutters after a mouthful of her drink. “I didn’t think they’d be _that_ late though. Mercedes seems to be pretty responsible.” 

That photoshoot had to be _by far_ the worst one Felix’s had. He’s been featured in many concepts throughout his career as a model—some weirder than others. Valentine Goneril’s photoshoot can be considered tame in comparison to other things he’s done before, so there shouldn’t have been a problem. 

No, the problem is _definitely_ Gautier. 

He remembers the way Gautier’s hand felt on his waist—leaving something feeling like a burn in the shape of his palm. The shoot’s concept kept them close—a little too close and intimate for Felix to really feel comfortable, but it’s nothing he cannot stomach. At most he flinches when they’re pressed too close for too long.

He recalls those eyes piercing through him up close, as if they were trying to look deep into Felix’s soul. For a man with such a shallow and superficial reputation, Felix realises, Gautier has a deep gaze—like he’s trying to watch and learn everything about you with one look. It unnerves Felix, especially because it’s almost _impossible_ to look away; the man has so much magnetic aura that he _commands_ to be paid attention to. 

And it seems that Gautier knows it himself. 

His arrogance and boldness had annoyed Felix thoroughly to the point of him almost punching him on the knee, but he held back. Professionalism is second nature to Felix, and long gone were the days of him losing his temper on set, allowing everyone in range to see his explosive meltdowns that burned everything in his path to a crisp.

So _of course_ the next best thing to do is to take it out on Annette. 

“I’d rather stick forks in my eyes than continue working with an idiot like him. We should have just withdrawn, and then gone on our merry way,” Felix snarls as he sinks back into the sofa he’s sitting on, allowing the stench of stale burger smell wrap around him. “So now we’re stuck with the industry’s most irritating person ever?” 

Annette huffs as she finally lets go of her straw, deciding to busy herself with her burger instead. Through their time spent together over the years, Felix has learned important things about Annette—especially in their shared habits. It’s not uncommon that they head to this specific burger joint after any stressful shoot. 

Between fries, sodas, and Felix’s favourite meat mountain burger, the two of them have shared tons of things with each other. If the fact that Annette knew of Felix’s daddy issues is not a big enough indicator, the latter trusts his manager with his life and considers her a friend. 

A small voice inside of Felix’s head hopes the feeling is mutual.

“I still think we should stay in the shoot, though.” Annette thoughtfully mulls over a sip of strawberry milkshake. “It’s a good opportunity. I think.”

“You _think?_ ”

“I just think that it’ll be a good project to add to your portfolio, you know? I don’t think Glenn’s ever done Valentine Goneril.”

“No,” Felix says. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Yeah! So, like. You don’t have to worry about the whole _living-in-my-brother’s-shadow_ thing. If we manage to successfully launch this one, I’m at least 95% sure that more brands will ask for you to model in their launches!”

“Don’t bring Glenn into this,” Felix narrows his eyes. “Glenn has nothing to do with Gautier.”

“I’m not talking about Gautier, Felix, I’m talking about _you._ ”

It’s not every day they have this talk, of course. If Felix could help it, he’d avoid every discussion of Glenn in the first place. It baffles him how names can remain like a spectre, long after a person leaves. He wonders exactly how many people see him for him and not for the legacy his brother left behind; shoes that Felix was never meant to fill in the first place. 

“So exactly what do you want to talk about,” He feels his brows furrow without even meaning to, “My brother’s a dead subject.”

“Even if he is, you’re still highly affected by him, no? You’re still stressed about living up to Glenn’s name,” Annette jabs a perfectly-manicured finger at Felix. “Don’t you think that it’s time to leave things in the past?”

Felix hates it when Annette is right—which is very often. She’s full of intellect and vitality, and it always shocks Felix how one person manages to find solutions for any problem that comes their way. He’s not sure if he could have gotten so far in his career without her, to be honest. 

“Continue with Valentine Goneril, Felix,” She reaches out to gently place her palm on the back of Felix’s hand, ensuring that she avoided touching him with her greasy fingers. “It’s time you make a mark for yourself.”

“I don’t know,” He says without any real push. Felix already _knows_ she’s right—the pros outweigh the cons. There is no way out of this, it was highly evident to him—there is no stopping in the world of fashion. “I’ll think about it.”

But of course she knows what he means. She’s known him long enough to understand that every passive agreement is basically a confirmation. An ‘I’ll think about it’ in Felix-speak is clear—he’ll do it. He’ll do it and he’ll put in all his effort, because that’s who he is. 

Annette smiles brightly, satisfaction written into every smile line that graces her face. 

\---

While he agrees to the shoot, it doesn’t mean that Felix has to _like_ it. There is a difference between determination to do something right and enjoying what he’s doing. 

The camera flashes in his face. By now, he’s gotten used to it, obviously. He feels Gautier pressed up against his side, lazily and effortlessly leaning back against the chair that they sit on. 

It’s a little hot where he’s smushed against Felix—no thanks to the copious amount of layers they’re being made to wear. Felix, in particular, prays to whoever’s listening that this shoot will end soon. The thickness of the gold-emblazoned blazer he’s wearing over a blouse traps the heat against Felix’s skin, and he’s sure that he’s sweating it out on Valentine Goneril’s no-doubt expensive material. 

It’s their problem for making such a dumb outfit in the first place, Felix thinks. Winter collection being shot in the summer? Sure. Peak logic. 

Gautier’s decent silence all day does not help curb Felix’s restlessness. It’s strange—he hasn’t attempted to flirt with anyone, save for the random chats he initiated with the crew members at the start of their day. When it comes to Felix, Gautier watches him like a hawk. those eyes sharply honed like an archer tracking his target. The intensity of his gaze is barely concealed with a lazy smile—lips quirked upwards, effortless.

It’s easy to miss Gautier’s random glances. His magnetic charm makes it easy for him to pull you in, close enough that you never notice anything other than him. Not his plans, his schemes, or whatever the man seems to hide. It’s all packaged, topped off with a nice little bow; _perfection_. 

And yet, Felix _knows_ that Gautier’s carefully crafted mask is a facade. He notices the sudden silences, how Gautier’s expression mutes subtly around Felix, the way he opts for watchful gazes instead of flowery, hollow words. Who knows what’s behind those honey-glazed eyes? What’s going on in that head of his? 

But overall, Felix realises—there is truly more than meets the eye when it comes to Sylvain Jose Gautier. 

“Feeling comfy, Felix?” Gautier purrs into his ear as the photographer shuffles around them, changing their position. “You can lean on me, if you want. You’re so tense—”

“I’d prefer not to banter while we’re on the job, Gautier.” Felix says. 

“ _Oof_. Tough one, aren’t ya?” Felix hears a hushed chuckle somewhere close to his face, and he wonders how close they actually are. He’s too focused on holding his pose to check, but judging from the way Gautier’s breath tickles the shell of his ear and his cheek—they’re _pretty_ close. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” 

Gautier laughs again. Felix hears a shuffle, the sound of silk rubbing against denim while Gautier adjusts his position.

“Say. Want to grab dinner with me, later?” 

“No.” 

To say that Felix is untouchable is an understatement. The plain truth of the matter is that he’s always come in second. He’s always been chosen when there wasn’t, _isn’t_ , another alternative. Plenty of times he’s been called to shoots and events simply for carrying the same surname as a man who once dominated the industry—and he’s sick of it. Sick of acting like a shadow, sick of being trodden on. 

He is not a weak person.

He is _not_. 

He turns Gautier down quickly and snappily—enough to stop any potential questioning that comes from his peer. He thinks it’s the end of it, that Gautier will _finally_ leave him alone, until—

“C’mon, Fraldarius. I just want to get to know you better—"

“You don’t have to get to know me better,” Felix snaps at him. If he wasn’t boiling with fury and anger, perhaps he’d be flustered—but Felix only focuses on the red-hot burning that lines the edges of his vision, the adrenaline in his body that shoots through his veins. It poisons his blood, and he _almost_ acts on the urge to throw a well-aimed fist into Gautier’s face. Almost. 

“I don’t need you to pretend to like me just so you can toss me to the curb. I’m not one of your play things, _Gautier_.” 

“Huh?” Gautier has the _audacity_ to look shocked and confused, as if everything he said had been totally misunderstood. “I don’t think you are?” 

“ _Sure_ ,” Felix says, “I’m sure you don’t.”

“Fradari—no. _Felix_ , I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. I genuinely want to get to know you? I’m sorry if I offended you somehow, but I swear, I’m sincere.”

“And I assume you’ve always been sincere to every other person you tried to ask out?”

“ _Ouch_ , just hit me where it hurts the most, why don’t you?” Gautier chuckles and throws his head back against the back of the couch. He raises his hand and presses against his chest, as if Felix’s words had truly stabbed him through the heart, cut through his defenses like a blade forged from the sharpest steel. “I guess I did deserve that…”

“Maybe more,” Felix grunts and rolls his eyes. “You deserve a _lot_ more than that.” 

Gautier laughs again, but this time he goes silent, leaving nothing but the sound of the camera going off in the background. Felix wonders if he was too harsh on him—

“I’m being for real, though,” Gautier suddenly says, a lot more seriously than Felix expected. “I really do want to get to know you.”

Being honest is not a trait that Felix associates with Gautier. His impression of the man is that he’s flakey, a _playboy_ , someone who’s probably never been told no before. 

His brother has always been quick to tell him that Felix judges too fast for his own good— _live a little, Fee! You’ll never know if you’ll meet the love of your life! What will you do then, chase them away?_ Felix is impatient, that is for certain, but would a man have such a reputation trail him if it wasn’t even the littlest bit true? 

“I don’t have a reason to agree,” Felix says. 

“Tell you what. Give me _one_ chance. Just a dinner with you and me, nothing else. If I piss you off, you can kick me to the curb and leave me and my broken heart alone forever,” Gautier says, “C’mon, just once?”

Even if Gautier crawls on his knees and begs, Felix still does not have even the smallest reason to agree. For all he knows, he might end up alone by the end of the night, left alone in a sketchy part of the city while his ‘date’ runs free like the wind, sweeping up people’s hearts like it’s a fucking game to him. Everything in Felix tells him no, _no_ , don’t take it. _You’ll get hurt._

_You’ll get mad. You’ll get pissed._

_Don’t do it._

But those eyes draw him close, even if he tries to run. Honey glimmers under the harsh lights of the set, and they’re close enough that Felix notices a bead of sweat roll down from Gautier’s forehead, down to his jawline, before dropping off the line of his face. Here, he feels more human—a lot more difficult to reject and brush off as simply Gautier from the tabloids that adorn the racks of convenience stores and station kiosks. 

And, against his body’s instinct to scream no in Gautier’s face, Felix’s heart bends. 

“... Once, and once only,” He says, before he breaks their eye contact and looks away. “If I’m not having a good time, I’m going to leave without a word.” 

Gautier’s expression lights up like a firework—beaming happiness and confidence. 

It’s the most genuine expression he’s seen from Gautier yet. 

“I won’t let you down!” 

_God_. What had Felix gotten himself into? 

\---

Before their shoot had ended, Gautier asked Felix a very important question: exactly where did he want to dine at? In that moment of not-thinking, Felix had blurted out the most expensive restaurant he knows—a fine dining restaurant in the heart of the city, surrounded by the nonsensically high skyscrapers reflecting light off their mirror-like windows. 

It had seemed like a good idea then, a last-ditch effort for Felix to shake Gautier off his trail. After all, who in their right mind would eat at such a horrendously expensive place? Felix is content with luncheon meat in his instant ramen; to waste money when they could go elsewhere is a sin that he’d much rather not commit. 

But Gautier insisted. 

The moment the name of the restaurant left his lips, it was as if Gautier had zoned out, fully focused on booking a table in the city’s most expensive place at such short notice. Felix had watched him pull out his phone and furiously message _whoever_ he was texting, completely ignoring Felix’s backtracking and his insistence that they could go somewhere else to eat, _seriously Gautier, we could just go to a McDonald’s, stop—_

And the consequences of his own actions take him to the city, late at night, dressed in a nicely pressed outfit that could have been avoided had he simply decided to give in to Gautier’s wishes without trying to fight him off.

Fate works in the most mysterious ways. Sylvain had been late the first time they met, and now? Felix is the one running behind, rushing towards the restaurant on foot as he tucks his leather satchel under his arm. The heels of his dress shoes clack against the concrete of the pavement, and the sound only pisses him off _more._

In his defense, he isn’t late because of his own flakiness. The sheer worry of dressing _correctly_ had locked him in the confines of his own room surrounded by his clothes, discarded pieces of clothing tossed onto his bed and the floor once they were deemed unsuitable for the job. Eventually, he had settled for a denim jacket he hadn’t worn since last year and a pair of pants from a shoot that had given him the clothes as thanks. 

He is ten minutes late when he finally slows down in front of the restaurant, panting as he pauses to catch his breath. 

“Oh!” Felix hears someone say, and he looks up. “Felix!”

Gautier appears out of nowhere, perfectly dressed up for the occasion. The way his sculpted muscular legs are cupped by the fabric of his pants, the way the sleeves of his nice, white dress shirt were casually rolled up to the elbow—it makes something stir inside of Felix, something that he didn’t quite understand himself. He swallows down that strange feeling, regaining his composure. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” He says, heaving as he straightens himself up in front of Gautier, “I—um. I had some issues on the way here.” 

Instead of getting mad, like Felix expects him to do, Gautier smiles. 

“It’s alright. As long as you’re here, I’m settled.” 

It’s fascinating how someone could say such things without thinking—the way Gautier’s lips ooze with sugary sweet words makes Felix wonder how many people he’s managed to charm with just lip service alone. 

The more he sticks around Gautier, the more he feels. Felix’s chest buzzes with a fluttering feeling as he watches his companion hold out a hand towards him—inviting, welcoming, and oh so warm. 

“Shall we head in, Felix?” Gautier asks, and Felix does not seem to be able to find it in him to turn him down. He pauses, hesitation filling his body as he glances down to that hand—spread out wide for Felix to take. 

He wonders just how far he’s willing to let himself go with Gautier. 

The most logical thing to do is simply to brush him off, ignore the hand and walk inside by himself, but Felix finds his body moving without rhyme or reason. Suddenly, his own hand meets a larger, rougher hand, his fingers skirting along the skin of Gautier’s palm. In response, Gautier’s fingers curl over Felix’s and hold on strongly, as if he’s silently assuring him—of what, Felix does not know. 

And if Felix’s heart pounds when they enter the restaurant, it’s most likely from the exertion he’s put his body through on his way here. There wouldn’t be another reason why he feels his pulse in his throat, ringing in his ears, and his blood rushing through his fingers. 

Right?

\---

The first thing Felix notices about the restaurant is that it is disgustingly pretentious. 

Its walls are high, ceiling far above their heads and decorated with crystal chandeliers. The restaurant is white—a pure, blinding colour that is free of any stain or dirt, and everything about it screams _expensive_ to Felix. He doesn’t think that he could afford anything here, unless he pulls out his phone to ask his father for a quick loan of at least half a million.

It’s just like in Annette’s movies. There’s a white grand piano with a pearlescent sheen on a wooden raised platform, where a lady in a nice black dress sits and lulls the audience with a melody he’s never heard before. His fellow diners are dressed in only the finest—clothes he’s only ever had the chance to wear in photoshoots and fashion shows. 

Everything about this restaurant is overwhelmingly rich, and Felix? He feels out of place, like a black rose in a field of white blooms stretching out to the horizon as far as the eye can see. 

“Felix?” Gautier asks as he looks up from the menu, clearly having caught on to Felix’s sudden shift in mood. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” Felix insists. The fact is, _he_ was the one who had asked Gautier to bring him here—though it was meant to be a joke. While Felix is known for prickly thorns and deadly gazes, he is not a cruel man. He wouldn’t trod on someone’s earnest attempt at getting to know him without reason—especially when the reason is of his own doing. 

“Hey, no.” Gautier closes the velvety red menu book with both his hands with a soft _smack_. His eyes are drooped with concern, so much so that Felix actually begins to feel _bad_ that he is being paid so much attention like this. It surprises him more and more that Gautier has such an eye for detail. “Tell me. Don’t hold back on me.”

“I’m fine, _really_ ,” Felix insists again. “Let’s just order something and—”

“Do you want to go somewhere else, Felix?” 

Such an eye for detail. 

“What makes you say that?” Felix finds himself gobsmacked that he was caught so quickly, and by _Gautier_ no less.

“You’ve been fidgeting this entire time, you know,” Gautier says, “And you’re usually so calm and collected. You look uncomfortable.” 

“I—” Felix stammers. How long had Gautier been watching him? “I guess I didn’t expect to come to _this_ restaurant. It’s really expensive, right?”

“I mean, _yeah,_ but I thought you wanted to—”

“I was joking,” Felix says, plain and simple. “I didn’t actually think you would bring me here.” 

“Oh,” Gautier’s voice drops in a way that makes Felix think he’s disappointed him. His heart sinks at the way he looks like a kicked puppy, so disappointed and sad and—

Ah, _fuck this_. 

“It’s not you, no, I’m just—… Like—… _Look_ , I was just joking about the whole expensive restaurant thing. But I’m just not a very expensive sort of person in the first place,” Felix finally says, albeit with a slight tinge of embarrassment colouring his heart. “I’m satisfied with just a quarter pounder and fries.” 

“Ah,” Gautier perks up curiously. “Well, if that’s the case, wanna bounce?”

In Felix’s 8 years of modelling, he’d been on plenty of dates—all of different varieties and forms. How could he not? While Felix had a strange reputation of being untouchable, icy cold shoulder almost impenetrable, he has his needs too. Many a man he encountered through his projects had managed to take him out to dinner. And many a date eventually ended with a deep kiss and Felix waking up the next morning to an empty bed, sheets cold to the touch, and his body sore. 

Yet though he had racked up years of dating experience, Felix finds himself feeling 21 again, fresh in a new city with love hidden in the strangest corners and hesitation in his heart as he explores new streets, new people, new stories. It’s unpredictable, whatever Gautier is. As soon as he thought he had the man figured out, he springs something new on Felix. 

It scares him, if he’s being honest with himself. 

“I could go for a good juicy burger myself,” Gautier continues, as if he didn’t notice Felix’s sudden silence. “Actually, I think I’d prefer that. It’s a good change of scenery from the usual clubs and bars.”

And he laughs. He has the audacity to _laugh_ like he’s not the one whose name is splashed all over the front pages of the tabloids, his fox-like smile associated with every trendy party that takes place within those clubs and bars that watch over the city in skyscrapers. Felix wonders exactly _what_ Gautier is thinking. The man is like a puzzle—seemingly easy to solve at first glance, but getting hopelessly more difficult to understand the moment you get trapped in his claws and lost within those honey eyes. 

“Well, if we both are in agreement, maybe it’s best we head out,” Felix replies. “I don’t mind going to the fast food place down the street.”

“Sure, but only if you answer my burning question—are you a pork kinda guy, or a beef kinda guy?”

“Chicken,” Felix says, “Easier to prepare.”

“Wow, marry me, you stud. Such impeccable taste!”

And if Felix laughs, he doesn’t mind admitting that for _once_ , Gautier made him smile—his cheeks burning like a flame against the mid-autumn air. 

\---

**sylvain jose gautier 23:42**

Is this the right number?

**me 23:42**

Yes

**sylvain jose gautier 23:42**

Oh good, i thought u gave me the wrong number ;w;

**sylvain jose gautier 23:42**

now that i have ur number

**me 23:42**

i’m right beside u, just talk to me

**sylvain jose gautier 23:42**

No.

**sylvain jose gautier 23:43**

nyway, now i have ur number, 

**sylvain jose gautier 23:43**

are u a cat, felix?

**me 23:43**

?

**sylvain jose gautier 23:43**

bc i wanna spend all 9 lives w u <3333

**me 23:43**

Disgusting

\---

“—Genuinely, I do not think that Claude understands the reasoning behind my actions,” Dimitri says around a mouthful of pasta that they ordered in. “I’ve tried hard to convey my affections, but they do not seem to be translating well!”

Their routine is simple. On Saturday evenings, Dimitri and Felix run to the nearest centre to fence, throwing themselves wholly into the adrenaline until they give out with fatigue. After sweating out their frustrations and worries, they run back to Dimitri’s apartment—or Felix’s—where they reward themselves with whatever junk they happen to choose that week. 

It’s a routine so ingrained in their schedules that planning is unnecessary. Felix finds the bonding time with his friend therapeutic, especially since they’ve been together for as long as Felix could say his own name through the gaps of his teeth. 

Felix has made himself comfortable in this apartment. It is an unspoken rule that the left seat on Dimitri’s plush dark brown couch is reserved for Felix whenever he’s over. The armrest is raised at a perfect angle to lightly support Felix’s back as he leans against it, and the angle of the couch makes it easy for him to stare at the television in front of the teakwood coffee table. 

Sure, Claude seems to like that particular seat too. But not sitting in that spot for _one day_ out of the entire week will not kill him. Plus, childhood friend privileges have been set in stone, and it’ll take a cruel soul to break the familiar bond that’s been cemented between Dimitri and Felix. 

Of course, this familiarity comes with its cons—Dimitri knows everything about Felix. From his fears, to his ambitions, to his plans and everything in-between, there isn’t much that manages to escape Dimitri’s attention when it comes to his longtime friend. 

Especially with the shift in his mood as of late. 

See, Felix has not been listening to a single thing that Dimitri has said all day—not on purpose, but it’s clear he’s distracted. Every other minute passing warrants a check on his phone, a casual scroll to see what he’s missed since looking away. Dimitri’s watched him unlock and lock his phone over and over all day now, and surely he’s caught on. 

“Felix,” Dimitri sets down his fork, drifting away from the main topic of conversation knowing that Felix is not listening. “Are you busy?”

Felix has barely touched his dinner; he knows that. The last hour or so has been fully given to checking his phone and replying to the pings that come every two to three minutes—messages ranging from jokes to little lighthearted questions inquiring about Felix’s day— 

But he’s not busy. He’s _not_. Felix knows better than to waste his life away using his phone, chatting with someone he knows he’ll see tomorrow morning.

“No,” Felix quickly sets the device next to him, face down on the smooth dining table. “Why?”

“You seem distracted, that’s all,” Dimitri says, “Have you found yourself a partner?”

“A—what, _no_?!” 

“I’m not pressuring you or anything, Felix, but if you found someone, you do not have to hide—”

“ _Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,_ ” Felix snaps, and he would have banged his fist on the table to get the point across if it were not for the fact that he is not willing to deal with Claude somehow finding out he so rudely abused his furniture in a fit of rage. “I do _not_ have a boyfriend.” 

“Ah, so it’s a man, huh?” 

“You infuriate me to the point of homicidal tendency.” 

Dimitri snorts as an easy smile spreads across his face. Years ago, he wouldn’t have even _tried_ to tease Felix, but now… _now_ …

Claude von Riegan sits at the top of his hit list. Felix will never forgive the man for teaching Dimitri humor.

“I know, I know. I am simply making fun of you, Felix,” Dimitri leans forward, pressing his chin into his hand as he watches his friend eagerly, as if Felix would give him _more_ information on his love life—“But truly, have you met someone recently? I know you said you would be partnering up with Valentine Goneril for a project.” 

“I am on that project, yes, but I haven’t met anyone.” 

Dimitri hums noncommittally. Whether Felix managed to deflect interrogation is another question altogether. 

“Well, partner or no, I’m glad to see that you are branching out into bigger projects.” 

Dimitri, for better or for worse, has seen Felix grow throughout the years. He is the only person who has seen Felix become the person he is today, morphing from a child who breaks into tears at every sign of difficulty to a man worth his salt—Dimitri has always been there every step of the way. 

Dimitri even housed him when Felix left the Fraldariuses for good, up until the very first paycheck Felix received that allowed him to finally get a place of his own. Even if Felix tried, he could never forget the fact that his friend knew him like the back of his hand; and the fact that Dimitri’s still stuck by him so long is an outstanding feat of its own. 

“It’s one of the brands Glenn hadn’t worked with,” Felix says, “So I took it up.”

“Well, that’s a perfectly good reason, but,” Dimitri says, clearly not satisfied with what Felix had admitted. “There should be another reason why you took up the job.”

“And what do you suppose that should be?” 

“ _Happiness_ , Felix.”

His breath hitches in his throat. 

“You should know, _you_ were the one who told me to do things for my own happiness in the first place. Or did you forget that?” 

Of course he didn’t. The context of his words are clear as day—Dimitri, on one of their Saturdays together, had confided in Felix about the love of his life. 

Dimitri had been struck with grief and pain and indecisiveness then—feelings of pining so strong in Dimitri’s heart that it had put him in a state of chaos. The fall was long, but hard. Felix had watched Dimitri pine for Claude so longingly that he himself had gotten frustrated at Dimitri’s internal debate over his self-worth— _was he worthy of being loved by Claude?_

Felix’s answer had been simple:

_I think you need to remember that you are human too, which means you are deserving of love._

_And overall, your happiness matters the most._

“Your happiness matters the most, Felix,” Dimitri absentmindedly twirls a lock of blonde hair around his finger, but his face is clearly in deep thought. “I want you to do things for yourself too.”

“What if I don’t know what I want? Then what?” Felix asks. 

Dimitri pulls his finger forward from the side of his face and rests it on his lips. He taps his finger once, twice in thought—making Felix sit in silence before he answers:

“Then when the time comes that you _do_ find out what you want, grasp it and don’t let go.” 

_What I want..._

_What_ do _I want?_

Felix’s phone buzzes, the corner of the device brushing his knuckles as he watches the screen light up. His screensaver is nothing special—a simple picture of a calico cat he took while visiting a cat cafe with Annette. But over the image of the adorable feline’s lovely blue eyes staring straight at the camera, the notification bar is prominent for Felix to see—

**sylvain jose gautier 20:21**

See u at the shoot tmr <33

**Author's Note:**

> [come and say hi!](https://twitter.com/blifuys)


End file.
